


Nestlings

by LittleLinor



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: (only alluded to but you know), Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Bad Parenting, Gen, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, TINY BABIES BEING FRIENDS, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-10 23:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: Chrono Shindou is six when the Hunger Games' youngest victor ever comes home from his games. And he's determined to make the quiet boy smile.A prequel toFar from the tree





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While this fic won't have any graphic on-screen violence, keep in mind that Ibuki has just come back from the Hunger Games and isn't... doing very well. Also warning for various degrees of bad to abusive parenting, although some aspects are more subtle than others.

The first time you meet Kouji Ibuki, it's not him you pay attention to at first.  
You're standing on the train platform with Mikuru, and for once, it's not one or two reporters that are waiting but a whole crowd of them. And it's not just the cameras: a lot of district people have gathered to watch the Victor come home. It's not as large or excited as you've seen happen in some other districts, but it's still the largest you've seen in your few years of life.  
When the summer heat starts to ease into autumn, you'll be seven, and you've been looking forward for a while to the new things your father said you'd be allowed to do.  
When the train finally pulls in and the doors open, it's your dad who gets out first. You dodge between people's legs to run forward to him so you can hug him before _someone_ decides to interview him, but this time, as you reach him and he scoops you up with a grin and a greeting, it's to the person behind him that all the cameras flock.  
He's still holding you up, and thus you can actually look down and at the small figure surrounded by tall, loud, fast-speaking people.  
You've seen Kouji Ibuki before. You saw a glimpse of him at the reaping, and you've seen him on the screen a lot, during the games. As a Victor's son, you have to watch even more than everyone else, and your father always told you that it was important to pay attention. To understand how people felt in the arena and how the gamemasters wrote their own story, and what made people win. So you've always paid attention, even if watching always makes you feel a little sad and angry. You don't really want to watch. But Mikuru told you, once, that instead you can see it as respecting those who get sent inside. That as long as someone is watching, then they're not completely alone.  
Ever since then, you've refused to look away. Even when it's scary.  
In the arena, he had already looked small, surrounded by giant trees and taller people. Now, in his white suit and surrounded by cameras and microphones, he looks even smaller.  
He looks at a loss, stammering half-answers to their questions. You feel your mouth tighten a little, a pout that you've been trying to stop doing because it feels too childish.  
“Chrono?”  
You turn back towards your father. All the previous years, he'd looked so tired, but this time there's something about him… not just happy but triumphant. And a look you can't quite place.  
Like the one he gets sometimes before playing cards with his friends. Like the excitement before a fight.  
“Welcome home,” you tell him, returning his hug, but you're still a little preoccupied.  
No one is hugging the other boy on the platform. Where are his parents? You know he has parents, they got interviewed and everything.  
Your father seems to catch on to your worry, and walks through the sea of people surrounding him. Between his build and his status, people actually move back. He could have been a peacekeeper.  
“Now, now, let the kid breathe. You've had all your chances to interview him before he got on the train, let him see his family and rest.”  
“What about the Five's Times?” a man asks, offended. “It's not like they let _me_ into the Capitol.”  
“You've got enough photos to make up a pretty story for today. You want an interview, you book it through me. Now shoo.”  
The man glares, but the group does start to clear up. He insists on taking a picture with the three of you, Kouji standing and you in your father's arms behind him, but after that he leaves, and some of the civilians who'd assembled take the hint and also start to clear out.  
“Aaand down we go,” your father says, putting you down. “Sorry about that, Kouji.”  
“… it's fine,” he says, quietly but not sullenly.  
“You'll get used to them. I don't think you've actually met my son?” he adds, nudging you forward a little.  
You look up at him, and try to give your biggest smile.  
“Hi!”  
It seems to startle him.  
“H-hello.”  
“I'm Chrono!” you tell him, extending your hand towards him in what you hope looks sufficiently grown up.  
He hesitates, then takes it and shakes hands with you, very carefully.  
“We're going to be neighbours, so try to get along, okay?” your father says.  
You put your hands on your hips and pout.  
“Of course! Who do you take me for?”  
He smiles, and then looks towards the platform's entrance.  
“Ah, here are your parents. They must have been held back by all that crowd.”  
_Then they should've been there early like I was_ , part of you huffs, but you don't want to be rude. Instead, you wait as Kouji's parents finally make their appearance.  
Unlike him, his mother is quite tall, and his father average. Maybe he just hasn't started growing yet. But neither of them show the warmth that you see in Mikuru's face, or the warmth you feel when your father comes back.  
“Welcome home, Kouji,” his father says, and Kouji just nods, as if his voice had left him.  
Silence falls. Mikuru's joined you by now, but neither of you seems willing to interupt. But it's almost like there's nothing _to_ interupt.  
Just as you're starting to fidget, a peacekeeper walks up to you. Kouji tenses a little, but the woman seems nice enough. She smiles as she reaches your group.  
“I'm here to escort you to your new house. You can make arrangements to move your belongings once you've settled in.”  
He nods.

As they leave, guided towards a car that'll drive them to the Victor's Village, Mikuru finally gets to hug her brother too.  
“Good job out there,” she tells him.  
“I did what I had to do. Thank you for taking care of Chrono.”  
She smiles.  
“We took care of ourselves pretty well. Right, Chrono?”  
You nod enthusiastically.  
“We made cookies the other day,” you tell him.  
“Oh? And did you leave any for me?”  
“… we can make more?” you offer apologetically. They had had a salty edge on top of the sweetness and you'd actually gone through them in just a few days, to Mikuru's amusement.  
He laughs, and picks you up again.  
“… hey, Dad?”  
“What is it?”  
You hesitate.  
“Chrono?”  
“… why are his parents…” you bite your lip. “… it's like they don't _care_ …”  
His face falls a little, and so does Mikuru's. They look at each other.  
Finally, he seems to come to a decision.  
“Because they had already given up.”  
“Huh?”  
“Sometimes when you're very scared of losing something, it's easier to just tell yourself that you've already lost it. It makes you a little less scared.”  
“… oh.”  
“Some parents keep hope for their children. They pray for them. They try and fight. But some of them give up, because it hurts too much to hope. And Kouji was very young.”  
You think you understand. When he puts it that way, you understand what he means. But it makes you sad, and angry.  
Maybe it hurts to hope. But it must hurt a lot more to be in there and know no one's hoping for you to come out. That everyone's already given up on you.  
Suddenly, even if it changes nothing, you're even more determined to pay attention to the tributes now. No one should have to have no one believing in them.  
And besides, he did it, didn't he? That's proof that there's always hope, isn't it?  
“… it's not fair,” you mutter.  
“Maybe not. But that's how people are.” He ruffles your hair a little. “Maybe it'll get better with time. They'll get used to him being around again. And besides, we're going to be neighbours! So we can help him settle in, right?”  
You nod. It's full of determination.  
You're a Victor's son, and you know that that victory isn't the end. You know what it's like to be different, to be lonely.  
If they won't give him a hug, then you will. Someday.  
“Well,” your father says, putting you down, “we'd better get going. We've all got a banquet to prepare for tonight. And I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to interview you too.”  
You blink.  
“What, even me?”  
“Yes, both of you. They'll probably ask you questions on how you felt, or how you think I did, or how you think _he_ did. So try to come up with something, and be careful.”  
“Does this ever stop,” Mikuru sighs as the both of you nod.  
But all three of you know that it doesn't. And now it won't for him, either.  
The youngest Victor.  
District 5's angel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now that I got "posting Pinion" out of the way, I can actually work on this without the Procrastinating Guilt hanging over me.
> 
> (Far From The Tree is being worked on too, but I'm not good at writing Tense Social Situations so it's a bit of a struggle lol)

“What's this?”  
Kouji turns back to look at you, and jerks a little as he sees the paper in your hands. He looks scared, and you immediately regret picking it up; hadn't you been warned about being too nosy? You were probably being rude.  
But it was so pretty.  
“I—I'm sorry! I just saw it, and…”  
“… it's okay.”  
He seems to have calmed down, although his eyes are still sad and scared. He gives you the tiniest of smiles, and comes closer, extending his hand. You hand him the paper.  
“It's a hummingbird,” he says quietly. It almost looks like he's trying to be reassuring, even though he was the one who looked so scared a second ago. “Sometimes you see them flying around when you're not too close to the city.”  
“It's pretty…”   
He looks at you, and something softens in him. Putting the paper back on his desk, he goes to pick a folder from a bookshelf, and takes out another.  
“What about this one?” he asks, showing you a picture of a small round bird. “Do you recognise it?”  
“Oh! They come pick at crumbs if you leave them laying around.”  
“They're sparrows. If you get them to trust you, they'll even come eat from your hand.”  
“Wow!”  
You stare at the drawing in awe, and he smiles a little.  
“They're so small, but they're very brave little birds. Fearless. A bit like you,” he adds, and you feel your face heat up a little.  
Okay, so maybe he has a point and you _were_ a bit rash earlier, your still-stinging knee is proof enough of that, but does he really need to remind you? And besides…   
“You're more the fearless one,” you point out. He won the games, after all.  
But what little smile had come to his face vanishes.  
“… not really, no.”  
There's something sad and haunted in his eyes now, and you want to punch yourself for not thinking before you talk. Maybe you need another scraped knee.  
Quickly, you search for something else to talk about. You don't want that sad look to stay on his face.  
Your eyes fall to the sparrow on the paper again. It's in pencil, the sketched lines still visible under the stronger ones.  
“Did you… did you draw this?” you ask, gasping in wonder at the realisation.  
“Oh. Um. Yes.”  
“It's _so good_!”  
He fidgets a little.  
“… thank you. It—it's nothing like what the Capitol painters can do, though. You should see the art they can do… the colours… it's like the things on the painting are actually alive.”  
“Aren't they adults, though?”  
“… I suppose.”  
You pout a little. The little bird on the drawing looks so lifelike. It's not clean and polished, but you could almost see it actually move, the way it's staring towards you like it just turned to look at something interesting.  
“… well it looks plenty alive to _me_. If I had some crumbs right now I think it'd just hop out and come peck at them.”  
… maybe you're trying too hard. But your words and your huffing do seem to cheer him up a little, at least: he doesn't laugh, but he does smile, and the haunted look clears away from his eyes.  
“Do you want it?”  
“Huh?”  
“The sparrow. Do you want the drawing?”  
Your hands tighten on the paper's edge.  
“… really? But… it's yours.”  
“I draw a lot… it's no big deal. But… I'd be happy… if it can make someone happy.”  
There's something sad under his words again, and that's what decides you.  
“… okay.” You smile, as bright as you can. “I'll ask Mikuru to help me put it up on my wall!” You pause, then suddenly remember. “Um—thank you. I really like it…”  
He tilts his head slightly.  
“Mikuru?”  
“My aunt! She helps me with stuff a lot.”  
“Oh, I know her, I just thought…”  
“Huh?”  
“… no, nevermind.” He hesitates. “… do you want to see more of them?” he asks, lifting the folder a little.  
You beam.  
“Yeah!”  
From downstairs, you hear laughter. Kouji's parents had seemed stiff and cold to you when you met them, but your father seems to be good at putting them at ease.  
“Here,” he says, sitting on the edge of his bed and patting the space next to him.  
You climb on, pushing yourself up with your arms so you can pull yourself to the spot and turn to sit. Your legs don't touch the ground, but you're used to it; you swing them idly to channel your excitement.  
He opens the folder, and your breath catches. There are dozens of pictures! He's only been back for about three weeks; did he draw all of them in such a short time? Or were some of these from before?  
“You drew all of them?”  
He nods.  
“I don't have to go to school anymore, and I can have all the paper I want, so…” He flips through another page and shows you another picture, a bird with a sharp curved beak and a long tail, sitting straight and alert on a branch. “That's a hawk… you can see them hunting sometimes, when you go towards the big dam… this one's the most common, but…” he flips to another page, where a similar bird occupies most of the space, with smaller doodles of other birds in one corner. “You see these sometimes.” He pauses. “… you can't really see the difference here, but their shoulders and bellies are red.”  
You nod enthusiastically. If he had the paints those Capitol artists use, you're sure he could make those colours come out. But you don't want to push, when he actually almost sounds excited.  
He shows you more. Each time, he gives you a short explanation on the bird he's drawn. You wonder where he learned about all this. But he doesn't talk about himself much, and considering he just came out of the arena, you don't want to force him.  
He flips to yet another page to show you a picture of a mockingjay, but you notice that he's skipped a page. It's not the first time, either. Several times, you've caught glimpses of a light-feathered bird, but each time he moves past it rather than show you and linger on it.  
“What's the white bird?” you ask, curiosity finally getting the better of you.  
He almost freezes halfway through his movement, finishing very slowly.  
“… it's a raven,” he says quietly. “They're usually black.”  
You've heard of ravens before. But you'd never actually seen one.   
“So why is this one white?”  
He stays silent for a long while before answering, enough that you start to regret having asked and have to stop your legs from swinging again nervously.  
“… there was a white one,” he says quietly. “In the arena.”  
“… oh.”  
You feel small and stupid.   
Hesitantly, he lets the folder open properly on that page, and strokes the paper lightly with a fingertip, not on the drawing itself but next to it.  
“… there were a lot of black ones too… when I looked up, I'd see them… it was weird because the arena was a jungle, you know?”  
You nod silently. Well, you don't really know, but you want him to continue.  
“I thought… the world inside the arena isn't really real. There's a real world outside, and if I just stepped out, it wouldn't be a jungle, it would probably be grass or maybe pine trees or oaks… the kind of places ravens live in. It all felt even more like a dream…”  
You stay silent, as small and quiet as you can.  
“… sometimes,” he says very quietly, “I thought, what if they didn't pick up the bodies like that? What if they just left us there? Would the birds come for us? Sometimes, it was very scary… but sometimes it felt better. Because they're real. They're just birds; they don't care about the Capitol or the districts. They just eat and fly.”  
He's so quiet you can barely hear him, his face hidden behind his hair. But at the same time, it feels like he's actually being himself, for once. Not someone with pretend smiles.  
“Maybe it wouldn't be so bad… if it was them instead.” He sighs, and it almost sounds like a chuckle, but also like a sob. “And this white one kept following me… sometimes I thought it was waiting for me to die. But then one time…”  
He pauses. You wait for a while, before daring to speak.  
“… one time?”  
“… you probably didn't see it… I don't think they got it on camera, because it wasn't important. But… one time, I was starving, and I didn't know what to eat. And I knew the fruits were poisonous but I almost didn't care anymore… but then I saw it, eating one of the fruits.” He smiles, very small. “It flew away, but I tried the same one. And I didn't die.”  
Your throat feels tight.  
“… I'm glad,” you say quietly.  
He turns towards you, blinking in surprise.  
“I—I mean. I'm glad you didn't die. I'm glad you're here.” You fidget. “S-sorry if it's weird to say.”  
He eyes you in silence for a moment, then smiles a little. It's sad, but it seems honest.  
“… thank you.”  
You try to give him a smile of your own.  
“… did you see the bird again?”  
“Not up close. I saw it in the sky a few times.”  
You know the rest of the story. After that period where he nearly died, your father was able to get him some sponsor gifts, and he had food again, and went on to survive to the top four. And then, desperate but unwilling to die after his co-tribute's sacrifice, he had actually started fighting for real. And he'd won. He had almost died along with his last opponent, but he'd won.  
But without that bird, he might never have survived long enough to get those gifts. He might not be here today. Suddenly, you care about them and his drawings of them a lot more.  
You wish you could hug him, like Mikuru does to cheer you up, but something tells you that it would be a bad idea.  
“I have to pick a Talent for the Capitol,” he says, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I thought I could do this… it's not like I'm good at anything else.”  
He seems slightly unhappy about it, though. You don't see how being free to do a thing you love a whole lot would be bad, but then again, maybe he doesn't want the Capitol people to see his drawings. You'd understand _that_ at least.  
“… maybe you can paint them instead? Then you have an excuse to try those but it's a different thing. Kinda.”  
He looks at you, eyes widening. You fidget a little. It was just an idea!  
“… maybe,” he says, and you blush a little.  
More laughter from downstairs. You jump on the occasion to change the topic.  
“What do you think they're talking about?”  
“… I don't know.” He looks down. “They don't talk to me a lot, so…”  
Well… you might understand, a little. Your father is always busy, and then he's gone every year during the games too. So you get lonely sometimes.  
But thankfully, there's a fix to that.  
“Next time,” you proclaim, “you should just come to our house.”  
“Huh?”  
“Then we can play there, and Mikuru will be there too! She's really nice, you'll see. She takes care of me a lot.”  
And more than just taking care of you, Mikuru always manages to get you to smile when you're sad or upset. If the both of you can't make Kouji smile, then no one can.  
And, as you hoped, he does smile.  
“… I'd like that.”


End file.
